13

It was Friday the 13th. I was at the ocean before sunrise,fishing for whiting and pompano. One whiting later, the sun began to rise, peeking through thick clouds on the horizon.

As the sun rose, black rain clouds overhead became visible. "Aha," I thought, "This surely is  a sign that Mother Earth will confirm the myth bestowed on us by the invasion of the Roman Empire on the Celtic world!"

Soon enough, a sheet of rain came across the ocean onto the beach, gently bringing closure to this fishing excursion. I, in sync with a perspective of the individual overemphasis that plagues our Western psyches today, was disappointed with the bummer luck brought on by Friday the 13th.

In ancient times, 13 was a sacred feminine symbol. With this in mind, I then reflected on how 13 might be a blessing at all times and Friday the 13th might be a day of blessings.  It then occurred to me that if I were Mother Earth, I would indeed be bringing the rain to quench the earth, lessening the fury of the growing number of brush fires in the area.

The sacred presence of 13 was alive and well after all as the earth soaked up the rain gratefully, receiving the promise of continuing growth this Spring.